


Jealous.

by JadeRachelle



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 03:00:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeRachelle/pseuds/JadeRachelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim's out working, using his own appeal to get information. Sherlock is studying him and finds himself aggravated at what he sees. He decides to take matters into his own hands to prove that ordinary people are nothing compared to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealous.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been doing little drabbles prompted by users on Tumblr and their head cannons.  
> This is one of them.

The leg beside Jim’s own shifted to press against him and he suppressed the urge to flinch away, instead forcing his lips to curl up into a smile. He lifted his glass to his mouth, eyes lowered as kept up the smile.

“So you’re in art then?”

Jim made a show of swallowing despite no liquid having passed his lips and nodded excitedly.

“Yes. I never made much myself but I do work at the National. Some of the pieces I see are just… gorgeous,” he replied, letting his voice drop on the last word. He smirked at the man beside him and licked his lips slowly, watching as the man’s eyes followed his movement and inwardly cheering. ‘

This shouldn’t be too difficult, shouldn’t last much longer. All he had to do was flirt his way through conversation and let him drink until his tongue loosened up. All it would take was one individual, a little intoxication and the hint of sex to get such people talking, giving away information in the hopes of impressing and seeming important. Just one slip of the tongue and Jim could escape his presence and scrub himself clean of the idiocy and mediocrity.

“Creative?” the man asked with a gleam of desire in his eyes.

Jim let his head lower and looked at him through his eyelashes softly, “oh very much so.”

Sherlock clenched his jaw, his eyes fixed on the pair of men sitting at the bar. Of the two of them only one was familiar to him. He would recognize that black hair and those dark eyes anywhere, usually dressed in ostentatious suits with the hair slicked back unlike tonight though. This figure, although the same man Sherlock knew, was so different here. He was decked in jeans, an anorak and a scarf, his hair slightly mussed and his demeanour making him seem younger than he really was. Despite these changes Sherlock knew exactly who it was. Why he was here like this, apparently chatting up strangers in a bar of all places, Sherlock had no idea.

He watched as the unfamiliar man leant forward and whispered something to his acquaintance. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and he scowled as he brought his own glass to his lips. This was unsettling, watching his only equal, his only rival, chat up some poor bloke. Sherlock couldn’t tell what the premise of this act was or if it was indeed an act at all; perhaps the object of his study did actually choose to frequent these places. He felt an uneasy feeling settle in his stomach at the thought, watching as the two men leant toward each other, their legs brushing and touching from ankle to knee.

Jim could feel a disconcerting prickling as though he was being watched from afar. He ignored the sensation and remained focused on his companion and his goals. The man was certainly finishing his drinks quickly, becoming more intoxicated by the minute. Jim steeled himself and moved, knowing that he needed to step up his game if he wanted the information he had come for before the idiot beside him became too drunk to function.

He slipped his hand under the counter and turned his body to face the man, his hand coming to rest on his thigh as he leant close.

“I’ve always been fascinated with criminals. You work with them, you must see their art. I’ve seen some beautiful work come from inmates. It’s really quite…” he stroked the man’s leg gently, “intimate. I’d love to one day speak to an offender, hear their story and inspiration.”

The man covered Jim’s hand with his own and tugged it a little to bring it to his inner thigh.

“Really? And which criminals are you interested in? I work with a lot of high profile guys. I might be able to get you interviews.”

Jim forced himself to look shy, sheepishly glancing down for a second as though about to divulge a secret desire, quickly looking back up to meet the man’s gaze. He bit his lip lightly as he answered, heart speeding up slightly at the thought of finally being able to get what he wanted from this idiot.

“Well… I’ve heard that fellow who rigged up the hall with semtex is quite the artist…”

“What? Anthony Clyde? Big guy, quiet, was on the news a few months back?”

“Yah huh. That’s the one. I wouldn’t mind meeting him and hearing about his motivation.” Jim practically purred, fingers tensing slightly against the fabric of the man’s trousers.

Sherlock felt an unfamiliar rage well up inside him as he watched the men. A strange sense of possession came over him as he observed his enemy, his equal, his Jim, place his   
hand on the man’s leg.

Although he couldn’t hear their conversation he could read the body language clearly. Everything about them suggest sordid flirting heading to something less vocal and it made Sherlock’s skin crawl. How dare this ordinary touch and be touched by Jim Moriarty. How dare his eyes flicker to Jim’s lips as though he had the right to touch them. It was ridiculous. Jim was a far greater man this normal, idiot. This ordinary person wasn’t worthy of even interacting with one of the greatest minds in the country. If Jim wanted to get off with some guy he should pick someone better, someone of a higher calibre, someone smarter, someone who could match him, someone like Sherlock.

Sherlock shook his head trying to clear away the strange fog that settled in his mind at that thought. He was being absurd. That thought should not have existed in any form. He couldn’t possibly be thinking of taking that man’s place, no matter how tempting Jim looked in his ridiculous get up tonight.

“Oh, that I can’t do unfortunately. He’s being transferred. Anyone else I could manage but…”

Yes. This was what Jim had come for.

“Oh my. Where to?” he asked in mock surprised as his hand slid up the man’s thigh.

“Pentonville.”

“That’s such a shame. When does he go?” Jim asked, licking his lips to distract the man from thinking about why such a question would be asked.

“Uh… Monday week… Twelve…”

Aha. Time and date set. That was all he needed.

Jim rose from his seat, hand leaving the man’s leg as he stepped towards him.

“But anyone else, I can swing for you. Just not him.”

Jim leant forwards, his lips brushing the man’s ear as he grinned, whispering softly.

“’Fraid I’m not interested. Tell your wife I send my love.”

The man flinched, face twisting into an expression of confusion and shock.

“How do you-“

“Ring, honey. I can see the tan line.” Jim replied with a smirk as he turned to leave. He sauntered towards the door, leaving the man behind as his eyes darted around the bar. They fell upon a familiar figure and Jim’s steps almost faltered at the surprise.

Sherlock grit his teeth as Jim leaned forwards, his nails digging into his palm with frustration. This wasn’t right. Jim was far too good for this nobody. Jim was so much better. He was Sherlock’s. Only he could rival the criminal, could understand him, could elicit responses like that from him. He watched with bated breath, jealousy running through him as 

Jim whispered something to the man and turned the walk away.

As the disguised criminal mastermind wandered across the bar he met Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock knew he was still glaring, his irritation showing on his face. He watched as Jim’s eyes lit up in recognition for a split second then threw him an unmistakable wink, a smirk accompanying the action as he continued towards the door.

Sherlock rose from his seat and followed him out, the urge to wipe that smirk off of Jim’s face motivated him to move quickly. He let the door close behind him and headed towards the figure that had stopped to use his phone. He was unsure what had come over him, why the desire and jealousy had even been felt. He had no idea what he was doing or how he would carry this odd scenario out but he knew that he had to show Jim that he had made a mistake, that he was better than that and that he belonged to Sherlock and no one else.

Jim’s fingers skimmed over the screen of his phone as he typed out a message to Moran informing him of the information he had received about the prisoner’s transfer. He frowned as he felt someone walk up behind him. With a roll of his eyes he turned expecting to find the man he had just abandoned at the bar coming after him for an explanation. 

Before he could even open his mouth he was slammed against the wall, wincing at the contact as the breath was knocked out of him. The phone dropped from his hand as lips crashed against his own and he was met with an icy stare from the detective he had passed. He made a sound of surprise and smiled against Sherlock’s mouth, his hands automatically moving to grip the lapels of the detective’s Belstaff to pull him closer. He flicked out his tongue and parted his lips, unsure of what had brought about such an action from his apparent nemesis but rather pleased with the sudden shift between them. He felt Sherlock’s lips open beneath his mouth and he slipped his tongue between them to lick a stripe across Sherlock’s own. He sighed and let himself become lost in the motion, shoulders relaxing and enjoying the incredulous but welcomed action.

Sherlock moved his hands to grip Jim’s hips, pinning him against the wall as he kissed him, his tongue dancing over Jim’s and tasting the warm sweetness of his mouth. He pulled back and took a deep breath, looking at the criminal with his flushed face and dazed expression.

“What was that for?” the Irishman asked softly.

Sherlock glared at him and licked his lips.

“That man. He was ordinary. You deserve better.” He replied in frustration.

Jim laughed and covered his mouth with one hand, staring at Sherlock as though he were mad.

“Oh, angel. That’s just work. You don’t think I’m really interested in that kind of thing? It’s all business.”

Sherlock clenched his jaw, anger rising in him. He had been an idiot. Of course it was just work to Jim. He wasn’t interested in sentiment, flirting, physical acts. Why would he be? 

And what had Sherlock just done? Kissed his bloody nemesis out of spite and jealousy and closeted attraction. He turned on his heel, prepared to leave and hope to high heaven 

that Jim never spoke of this again, of his inability to control himself, of his unsightly misunderstanding and overreaction.

Jim grabbed hold of Sherlock’s wrist, fingers trembling as he realised that what he had said could be misconstrued.

“Wait…” he muttered.

Sherlock turned back to glare at him as though daring him to begin with the mockery.

Jim tugged on his arm, pulling him back and wrapping his other arm around the man’s waist.

“He was business, but you are pleasure.” He smirked, leaning forward to press his lips against Sherlock’s once again. He felt the detective stiffen momentarily but he soon relaxed and allowed himself to return the movement, his body pressing against Jim’s. For long minutes the pair stood alternating between kissing and pulling apart to gulp down air before diving back in. After what felt like eternity, Jim pulled away and rests his head against Sherlock’s chest with a grin, his breath coming fast and shallow.

“Did you get a little jealous?” he asked quietly.

He felt Sherlock nod, his arms wrapping around the criminals body.

“Yes. You are mine.”


End file.
